


Time

by editorbit



Series: Jerome & Jeremiah Character Studies(?) [17]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arkham Asylum Patient Jerome Valeska, Character Study, Gen, One Shot, POV Jerome Valeska, Soft Jerome Valeska, Wholesome, for once, ft. shakespeare again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editorbit/pseuds/editorbit
Summary: Sitting in his cell at night, Jerome realises just how slow time can pass if one has nothing to do.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Series: Jerome & Jeremiah Character Studies(?) [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514969
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Time

Sitting in his cell at night, Jerome realises just how slow time can pass if one has nothing to do. Time is normally fast paced. Time rushes by like a car breaking the speed limit. Time goes by fast, sometimes too fast, but never slow. It’s a strange experience, lying here on his bed and just waiting for the seconds to reach a minute and the minutes to reach an hour. It feels as if he can stop time completely if he just lies still enough and thinks as little as possible. Perhaps, if he tries hard enough, he can even make time go backwards. 

Time passes incredibly slow by and all the while the cell is silent. Not a noise is heard other than his own beating heart and his breaths. It’s just him and his own mind and his own mind can only entertain him so far. Very soon into the night it’s very much silent in there as well. The few thoughts in there echo like his voice in an empty room - or an empty trailer. It’s empty in there, his little brother would say, there’s nothing in there. He’d tap Jerome’s head as well like he was knocking on a door. A door leading into a silent, empty room. 

Jeremiah would fill the room. 

Sometimes Jeremiah would read to him. Memories of nights lying just like this on his bed while Jeremiah lied right beside him, book propped up in his hands and voice quiet in the dim lit room. Stories of adventures, of people of all kinds and of love and friendship were told. Mostly the stories were the same. They were constantly on the move and books were something Jeremiah had very few of. Rarely did he get to visit a library. Every night they lied like this. Jerome eyeing the paper, following Jeremiah’s finger running by the meaningless words that looked like nothing but scribbles to Jerome. Words would pop up every so often. Words he recognised. More and more of them as time passed. Sometimes Jerome could read along, though only to the books Jeremiah owned and read the most. Sentences would pop up. Sentences he still remembers this very night.

"We are time’s subjects, and time bids be gone."

Once Jerome had joined Jeremiah to the library. Yet another city, yet another show and yet another night alone. Jeremiah took the opportunity to go to the library. Jerome joined him. They walked down the streets together, hands shoved into their pockets and breath visible in the air before them. They’d stop and ask where the library was and on they trudged, steps light and not a care in the world. Time passed so slow on the way there, yet sped right up as soon as they stepped into the building. Jerome can still feel the excitement welling up in his chest with each step. Which type of story would it be this time? Which type of character would they follow? Where would they be going tonight? 

Jerome picked out the book. Jeremiah sat in one of the couches and watched his brother pull out almost every book in the library to look at the cover. Then he’d found it. The one he wanted. He’d presented it to Jeremiah, smile on his face and excitement all-throughout his body. Together on the couch they sat as Jeremiah read to him. Jerome, as always, listened. Tilting his head to rest it on Jeremiah’s shoulder, he looked at the pages, gaze following Jeremiah’s finger. Until the librarian approached them and stopped them, they sat there and read together. 

Shifting on his bed, Jerome’s hand slips under the mattress to pull it out. The book. The very same book. The one he’d snatched from the library all those years ago, slipping it into his jacket. The same one with the little makeshift bookmark and all. He’d never finished it. 

Soon though, he would. They would. If only time would pass by faster like it has all these years.


End file.
